


come home to my heart

by surrenderer



Series: the people we'd be together [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bottom Armitage Hux, M/M, One Night Stands, Reincarnation, Soft Kylux, Top Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23350660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderer/pseuds/surrenderer
Summary: Something about Ben standing in the snow, hands in his pockets and waiting for him, is so familiar. It reels him in.(Or, the one where Hux meets a stranger named Ben in a bar and takes him home.)
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: the people we'd be together [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816198
Comments: 23
Kudos: 164





	1. someone you maybe might love

**Author's Note:**

> This fic features all your favorite tropes, such as: overuse of em-dashes, run-on sentences, semi-colons galore, probably unrealistic porn, Hux's appreciation of Kylo's body, a cameo by Millicent, and a lyric as a title!
> 
> (It's from Supercut by Lorde)

He’s two and a half drinks in, his world tilting slightly on its axis, but Hux focuses on two points: the chill of the whiskey glass in his hand and the heavy warmth of Ben’s hand on his thigh.

At least, that’s what Hux thinks his name is. They exchanged names when Ben sat down next to him and bought him a second whiskey, and this is a loud bar, so it wouldn’t surprise him if he misheard the man. But this late in the game, he doesn’t care what Ben’s name is, he only cares about the heat in his gaze, his hand on his thigh, the way his generous mouth lingers at Hux’s ear, whispering all sorts of flirty filth to him until Hux is ready to have him on the counter, indecency laws be damned.

“Do you want to come home with me?” he asks abruptly, turning to look at this magnetic force of a man, who had the audacity to sit down next to him and pay for his drink like he knew Hux wouldn’t decline. The shadows on his face dance and flicker, the bar lights creating a dark patterned stripe that runs down the side of his face, across his cheek and down to his neck. When Hux blinks, it’s gone.

Ben grins at him like he’s been waiting for this all night—a predatory gleam of teeth. In another life, Hux thinks, he might be a dangerous man. “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

They manage to flag down a cab at the corner of the street because it’s too cold to walk to the nearest tube station, so they pile into the backseat, clumsy and uncoordinated. There’s room enough for both of them, yet Hux ends up pressed into the corner, completely aware of the cab driver’s disapproving stare in the rearview mirror and completely unconcerned by it at the same time. This isn’t like him at all, but Ben has his hands on him and his lips at his jaw, so Hux’s own father could rise from the grave to strike him down and Hux _would not care_.

The cab jerks to an abrupt halt fifteen minutes later; when Hux looks out the window in a daze, he realizes that they’re in front of his building. It’s a recent development, all sharp angles and clean stark-white paint, six floors and twelve units. Hux only moved in three months ago and is still in the process of furnishing it, but it’s a well-deserved move after years in the small basement apartment of a classic row house.

He throws some cash at the cab driver without bothering to count it, and Ben’s waiting for him on the curb as the cab pulls away, leaving the two of them alone. In the dim streetlights, he looks the part of a modern brooding poet, with his curling black hair and solemn face and long black peacoat in the melting snow, but the hungry look he levels at Hux is anything but peaceful.

Something about Ben standing in the snow, hands in his pockets and waiting for him, is so familiar. It reels him in. He steps closer just as Ben reaches for him too, so their lips collide, painfully at first, but Hux tilts his head slightly—and _there_ , that’s it, that’s perfect. He rests his gloved hands on Ben’s lapels so he can feel the contours of his chest, the impressive muscle underneath layers of wool and cotton. Ben’s hands find a natural resting place on his waist, then on his back as they press even closer together.

“Upstairs?” Hux asks when they break apart, more breathlessly than he’d like, but the way Ben growls and kisses him again makes it worth it.

Five minutes later, they’re in an elevator and Ben’s got him pressed up against the wooden paneling. They’re not kissing, but Ben mouths at his cheek and jaw, hands tucked into Hux’s back pockets like they belong there. Hux feels caged in, but not trapped; he and Ben are nearly the same height, but Ben is significantly broader in the shoulders and chest and it sends pleasant shivers down his spine when he thinks too long it about it.

By the time they reach the fifth floor, Hux has half a mind to wrap his legs around Ben’s waist and make him carry him to the door, but he restrains himself and pulls Ben along instead down to his end of the hallway.

Unlocking the door proves harder than it should be, with Ben pressing up behind him and doing his best to be as distracting as possible. “We can do this inside,” he protests half-heartedly as Ben slides his hands under his coat and shirt and presses closer to his back.

“Just want to touch you,” Ben mumbles, nuzzling into the curve of Hux’s neck like he’s a cat. Speaking of which—Hux opens the door slowly, then a little wider when he sees that there isn’t any ball of orange fur waiting to sneak her way past the threshold.

“Watch out for the cat,” he tells Ben anyway, who blinks and pulls back. “I hope you’re not allergic?”

Ben shakes his head, looking around his feet now as they enter the apartment. “No, cats are fine… you didn’t strike me as the pet type, though.”

Hux lets that one roll off his back because it’s true; his public persona is the furthest thing from warm and friendly, but Millicent is possibly the only living creature he cares for other than a select group of friends and his stepmother.

“Millicent is a closely guarded secret. I’ll have to kill you if you tell anyone about her,” he says, only partially joking, as he flicks on the entryway light. His orange tabby watches them closely from the top of her cat tower in the living room, then hops down and meows in greeting. Hux pets her when she rubs herself against his legs, even if it means cat hair on his nice black pants. If he has his way tonight, they’re going to be on the floor anyway and he won’t care about his dry-cleaning bills. “Watch out, though, she bites if she doesn’t like you.”

Ben watches warily as Millicent approaches and stares at him. Finally, he kneels down, rocking on his heels to stare back at her. “We only had dogs when I was growing up,” he says, holding his hand out to Millicent so she can sniff him, despite Hux’s warnings.

Hux watches out of the corner of his eye as he takes his coat and gloves off because Millicent, historically, doesn’t take well to strangers. There’s a reason he had to warn Ben: Millicent’s bite and her claws are weapons she wields fearlessly against anyone she doesn’t like. His friends are acceptable, but only after long periods of acclimation. So it’s a surprise when she doesn’t lash out at Ben, but sniffs at his fingers and then rubs against his legs with a soft meow. “I think she likes me?” Ben says, looking over at Hux with a triumphant smile.

“She’s a traitor,” Hux says, but without any real heat. It shouldn’t, and doesn’t, matter if Millicent likes him when she’s never liked any of Hux’s previous hook-ups. Hux just wants to use Ben’s magnificent body for a night, take him for a ride and blow his mind. It’s not like this will be anything more serious than a one-night stand.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks as Ben takes his coat off and lays it over the back of the couch, then toes his boots off to reveal deep red socks that he also removes and tucks into the boots. The buttons on his black henley are partially undone, but only go down enough to expose a pale sliver of skin. There’s a swirl of red and black ink on the inside of his left forearm. When Hux tears his eyes away from Ben’s impressive body, he realizes that Ben is smirking at him, and he flushes, somewhat embarrassed to be caught ogling him so blatantly.

As attractive as Ben is and as well as his clothes fit him, it also feels _wrong_ in a way—Hux doesn’t know why he expected a swirling black cloak and a padded tunic with a _sword_ at his waist; Ben might look like a brooding Byronic poet or some dark anti-hero from a bygone age, but he _isn’t_. Hux has to get out of his own damn head before Ben decides that coming home with him wasn’t a good idea.

Ben shakes his head. “I’m good. I’m more interested in something else.” He stares deliberately at Hux, who suddenly feels that warm, delicious heat coursing down his spine again. There’s something unnerving about the way Ben looks at him, the way he’s been looking at him all night, like he wants to eat him alive, but also like there’s something about Hux he’s trying to figure out. It really shouldn’t turn Hux on like it does.

There’s something just a little _off_ about tonight. He can’t tell if it’s him or Ben, or both of them together.

He clears his throat and wipes his damp palms on his jeans subtly. “In that case, I’ll show you around?” Ben follows him through the living room and the open kitchen, down a hallway and past the guest bathroom. It’s all just a build-up to the main attraction, which is the master bedroom. There’s a smaller bedroom he’s set up as a workspace with a futon, but the master bedroom has a bed large enough to fit even Ben’s broad shoulders comfortably, as well as a lovely, if slightly obstructed, view of the Shard and its companions on the London skyline.

Ben looks around in interest, but most of his attention’s taken up by the bed, as it should be. “I know you said you were an architect, but maybe you should be an interior designer instead,” he says thoughtfully. “I’d pay you to organize my place back in New York.”

“I wanted to be an aerospace engineer first,” Hux admits, “although I think my childhood dream was to literally be a star in space, so I guess I’ve learned to aim for the attainable. But enough about my career aspirations… I doubt you came home with me for that.”

Ben laughs, stepping closer to Hux until they’re within kissing range again. His large hands settle on Hux’s waist. “No, I did not, but I like it. I like hearing you speak, it’s soothing.”

Hux has never been called _soothing_ in his life. He’s been known to make his underlings cry at the firm, although he respects them all the more when they come back the next day, standing a little straighter with steel in their spines. “If you say so,” he mutters, but leans in at the same time Ben does.

The kiss is deeper this time, more intense for the extra privacy they have, and Hux tangles his hands in Ben’s hair like he’s wanted to all night. It’s just as silky as he imagined, and Ben moans against his mouth when he tugs carefully.

“Kept thinking about your hands in the taxi,” Ben mumbles, sliding his tongue into Hux’s mouth as he goes for the buttons on Hux’s shirt. To his credit, he’s careful with them, as if he knows how expensive the shirt is and how much hell he’d get for ruining it. They kiss harder for a few seconds before Ben breaks it, glassy-eyed and lips swollen. Hux has a sudden urge to bite the lower one. “Those leather gloves you were wearing… wanted you to touch me so bad.”

Hux laughs. “What, the sight of my bare wrist drove you wild?” How positively Victorian.

Ben nods, eager and unashamed of his desire. “You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. I was ready to give the driver a show.” He slides Hux’s black button-up down off, then gets to work on his pants. They’re rather tight but show off his long legs spectacularly; Ben gets them down and off with some effort, distracted through most of it in favor of kissing the hollow where his collarbone meets his shoulder.

He gets to work on Ben’s shirt as well; it’s easy to just pull it up and over his head, even if Ben grumbles at being made to stand up straighter. He’s wearing a black tank top underneath, a slender string of leather around his neck and dipping under the tank top. Hux wants to pull it out, see what’s on the end, but Ben’s palm on his cock distracts him from all coherent thought.

“Oh, fuck,” he chokes out as Ben rubs him, the cotton chafing against his skin in a pleasant way. “On the bed, _now_.” He fists his hands in Ben’s tank top and forcibly drags him backwards until his back of his knees hit the mattress and he lets himself fall down onto it. Ben almost follows him, but sticks his arms out just in time to avoid fully crushing Hux into the bed.

If Hux was surprised by how natural it felt to be in Ben’s arms earlier, how it feels like they’ve done this before, it’s nothing compared to how he feels right now, with his heavy weight on top of him, mostly undressed and turned on. It’s like every decision he’s ever made in life has led him right here, right now, to this very moment, and it’s exactly where he needs to be.

They’ve been here before. Hux doesn’t know how or when, but he has had Ben on top of him before, he’s had his lips on his and his hands all over his body.

He stares at Ben, Ben with his long black hair falling into his face and his solemn, tired eyes, and tries to place him. He’s so distinctive, there’s no way Hux would’ve slept with him before and not remembered it. And when Ben meets his eyes, Hux suddenly realizes that he feels it too. The chemistry between them crackles, but they know each other somehow.

They shake themselves out of it at the same time, and Ben slides down Hux’s body to settle between his legs. He had so many things to say at the bar, ranging from innocent to downright filthy, but he’s silent now, and if it weren’t for his shaky breaths and the way his cock strains against his pants, Hux would think that he’s lost all interest.

Ben’s black curls fall in his face again as he looks up at Hux, dark eyes holding his as he breathes over his clothed cock. Hux wants to snap at him, tell him to get on with it already, but he doesn’t have the words. The only thing he manages is a breathy gasp as Ben fits his mouth right over the bulge, wetting the fabric and licking over the shape of his cock again and again.

Hux moans softly, watching Ben work through half-lidded eyes. He’s as focused on the task as he’s been on Hux all night. Men and women alike paraded in front of them both at the bar, and Ben only had eyes for Hux, their knees knocking together and his hand hot on Hux’s thigh.

Ben pulls Hux’s boxers down around his thighs, then clambers over his lap so he can pull them all the way off. Hux is fully hard again, cock straining upwards against his stomach, and Ben eyes him smugly. “Condoms? Lube?” he asks, the deep rumble of his voice making Hux shiver.

Of course, this is where they’ve been leading up to all night, but now that it’s _here_ , Hux finds himself at somewhat of a loss. He’s also fully naked, while Ben is still clothed, and the vulnerability of it throws him off-balance. “Here,” he finally says, sitting up on his elbows so he can rummage in his nightstand. There’s a small bottle in the back, still half-full, but his box of condoms comes up empty and squashed on one side.

Ben takes the bottle, but tosses the empty box somewhere onto the bed. Maybe onto the floor, who knows. Hux can’t even be upset about the mess. “I’ve got… hang on. In my coat pocket. I’ll be right back.” He sets the bottle down, then leans down to kiss Hux hard, a desperate edge to the kiss like he can’t help himself, like he can’t bear to leave this bed even for the few minutes it’ll take for him to walk into the living room and come back.

Hux doesn’t want to see him go either. It hurts to see him walk out the bedroom door, even though rationally, it shouldn’t. Ben’s getting a condom from his coat pocket, for heaven’s sake, he’s not _leaving_.

 _You’re being ridiculous, and getting too attached. He’s only yours for one night. Not even that. He’s only here for one fuck_ , Hux tells himself sternly, flopping back on his pillows. He hears a faint meow, some rustling and heavy footsteps, and then Ben is back in the bedroom, closing the door behind him quickly.

“The cat wants to come in. I didn’t think you’d want her watching us,” he explains as Millicent yowls her displeasure at finding the bedroom door shut. He’s lost his pants along the way, but not his tank top, and he’s holding a shiny packet between his fingers.

That does sound like Millicent; her dislike of Hux’s varied partners likely stems from being locked out for most of the night when he has someone else in his bed. She’ll get over it, though. “You’re right. Come here, then.” He can’t help how he reaches out for Ben as he gets closer, like Ben’s a lover, a boyfriend, rather than an attractive one-night stand. He comes willingly, though, folding himself into Hux’s arms like he belongs there and kissing him the whole time as he clambers back into bed. Even when Ben licks the corner of his mouth for no apparent reason, Hux finds it endearing.

“It’s so weird,” Ben mumbles against his neck, pressing close to Hux and rubbing his nose against the soft skin. Hux can’t imagine he smells too good, probably like sweat and stale cigarette smoke and the whiskey Ben bought him at the bar, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “I feel like we’ve been here before. Like I’ve touched you, and kissed you, even though we’ve never met before tonight.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Hux mutters, even if his heart starts pounding rapidly, because Ben _feels it too_. Before he can say anything else ridiculous and stupid like that, Hux pulls him up so they can kiss again. He’s rough with Ben, nipping at his lips and tugging at the hem of the tank top until Ben pulls back to take it off.

His bare chest is even more impressive than Hux imagined at first, muscles well-defined and tapering down to a narrow waist. There are small bruises here and there, some yellowed and fading, and others still stark against his pale skin, but nothing alarming or to signify that he does more than work out. He’d feel more self-conscious about their differences if he wasn’t fully aware of Ben’s earlier glances and the way he can’t seem to keep his hands off Hux. Even if he’ll bruise in the morning, he doesn’t want to tell Ben to be gentler.

There’s a scar on one pectoral, another on his hip, partially hidden by the waistband of his boxers; surely Ben has stories about those, but Hux is looking at the charm on his necklace. It’s a shockingly blood-red crystal with a pale crack running through the center, one end wrapped in metal and wire to create the pendant that dips down to his breastbone. He touches the crystal, holds it in his hand; he almost expects it to radiate heat, but it’s cool to the touch.

“It’s a family thing,” Ben explains self-consciously when he notices Hux studying the pendant. “Not that we’re crazy hippies, like those dudes selling crystals from a van on the beach or whatever, but my mom’s side of the family, we each have one… You’re supposed to make the pendant yourself. I messed up the first try, that’s why it’s cracked like that.”

He fiddles with the clasp and takes the necklace off, setting it on Hux’s nightstand where it gleams dully in the light. Hux hopes he’ll remember to take it back when he leaves because he doesn’t fancy the idea of trying to mail back a family heirloom to his one-night stand.

He settles back against his pillows as Ben takes up his old position between his legs, spreading them wider to make room. Now that they have lube and a condom, Ben seems as eager to get this party started as Hux is. He certainly doesn’t waste time in bending down again to suck Hux’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh,” Hux gasps, resisting the temptation to thrust into Ben’s throat through sheer willpower alone. His mouth is wet and willing, tongue licking wickedly around his cock for a hot second before he pulls off.

“Gonna fuck you soon,” Ben promises, something dark in his voice that makes Hux’s cock twitch. He swipes his tongue across the head and Hux groans at his ceiling, clenching his hands on his sheets. “I knew you wanted my cock as soon as I saw you looking at the bar.”

Hux wants to quip about Ben’s overinflated ego, but it dies in his throat when Ben takes his boxers off and he sees his cock for the first time. Maybe Ben _does_ have a good reason for that overinflated ego—and he _was_ looking at the bar, and not all that subtly either, so he can’t even deny it.

Ben, for his part, seems to have found his words again just as Hux has lost his. “I can’t wait to hear you beg for it,” he says, getting the bottle and slicking up two of his fingers. Hux watches them gleam in the dim bedroom lighting and licks his lips unconsciously. He wants Ben so badly, wants to fuck himself on that glorious cock and scream his name to the heavens. There’s no point in being embarrassed about it now, even if he _is_ blushing.

Ben takes one look at him and smirks, his gaze heated and smug and hungry all at the same time. Hux would be more annoyed if he wasn’t so hot for it, so desperate for Ben’s touch again. “Oh, wow, that’s it, isn’t it? That’s what gets you going. You need a good hard fuck, someone to make you scream and forget your own name…“ He cuts himself off as he takes Hux’s cock back in his mouth, sucking eagerly on the head, and Hux gasps, then nearly chokes himself on his tongue as Ben slips one finger into him when he least expects it.

Ben is careful and attentive with both his hand and his mouth, and it isn’t long before he has two fingers in him, opening him up and getting him loose for his cock. Hux feels warm all over, toes curling and legs spreading wider of their own accord when Ben adds a third with the help of more lube. They’re going to use up the rest of the bottle at this rate; Hux can feel the lube smearing over his thighs and ass and dripping slowly onto the bed, and he can hear the wet squelch of it as Ben coaxes him into a hazy state of pleasure with his fingers. Usually, the mess would annoy him, but he finds that he doesn’t care right now, choosing to moan wantonly instead.

“That’s it,” Ben croons, spit-slick lips brushing against the side of his cock as Hux writhes under him. “Yeah, that’s it, baby, let me make you feel good.” He curls his fingers inside Hux, and Hux shudders and whines. It sounds something like _please_. He feels Ben smile against his thigh before he licks at the base of his cock and Hux feels pre-come trailing down the side. “You need this big cock, don’t you? You need someone to just hold you down and _wreck_ you. Well, you’re just in luck. I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

Hux has never been fond of pet names or dirty talk, it doesn’t do much for him, but with Ben touching him like this, he’d say yes to just about anything. He moans in agreement, trying to push back against Ben’s hand some more. Ben laughs under his breath; it’s not mocking, but Hux still feels like he should be embarrassed. This isn’t like him at all—his former lovers wouldn’t recognize him or the way he squirms for Ben and gags for his cock, letting someone else take control like this. “Yeah, baby, I know. I know you want it. I got you, I’m not letting you go. You’re ready for me, aren’t you?”

If Ben doesn’t stop talking and fuck him soon, Hux _will_ have to kill him, embarrassment or not. But it’s too much for Ben to bear as well, and Hux moans in relief and in disappointment when he pulls his fingers out and starts fumbling with the condom. He could’ve come from this, but he wants _more_.

While Ben’s preoccupied, Hux rolls himself over—while _not_ kicking Ben in the face, thank you—and pushes himself up on his elbows and knees, spreading his legs a little. He’s not particularly muscular, not the way Ben is, but he’s all leg and sharp angles and he knows he looks good like this, has heard it enough from various lovers.

Behind him, he hears a sharp intake of breath. “I should’ve known you’d like it like this,” Ben mumbles, but doesn’t complain further as he settles himself between Hux’s legs. He hears the click of the bottle cap and the wet noise of Ben slicking himself up, jumps when Ben slaps his cock against his hole a couple times. He’s so hot for it now, they both are. It makes Hux _proud_ , the fact that he’s cracked Ben’s brooding façade with his body.

The first push hurts, will always hurt no matter how much lube there is, but Hux wills himself to relax, exhaling slowly as Ben pushes in. It helps, but only a little, and Hux swears as Ben just keeps _going_ , guiding his cock in carefully until Hux feels like he can’t breathe without feeling Ben inside him. By the time Ben bottoms out, hips pressed up against Hux’s ass, he’s already feeling overwhelmed, grabbing onto the rails of the headboard for something, anything to ground him.

Ben’s hand on his stomach doesn’t help, especially not as he moves it lower, circling around his cock and stroking him back to full hardness so quickly that Hux thinks he can feel the blood rushing south. He whines, trying to thrust into his hand and finding that he can’t. It’s almost too much, between Ben’s hand and his obscenely large cock; Hux feels like he’s going to come entirely too soon and that would be disappointing.

“You did so good,” Ben tells him in a hushed tone, rolling his hips shallowly as he rubs his thumb just under the head of his cock. Hux can feel himself dripping pre-come on his hand and on the sheets, but he doesn’t care anymore. His entire world’s narrowed to Ben’s warm hands on him, his heavy cock in him. “So good, god, you’re so tight. I’m never going to let you go. We’ll just stay in here and fuck all day and you’ll come on my cock every time until you don’t know your own name or how to be without it.”

Hux makes a noise that doesn’t sound like him at all, a whine and gasp and moan all at once. Ben pulls back, and then leans his entire weight on him until he’s got Hux pinned down on the mattress, one hand firmly on his back, the other on his hip to make him arch. “Oh, fuck,” he moans as he tries to push back against Ben and finds that he _can’t_ , not like this. He might be drooling into his pillowcase, he’s not sure, but he’s definitely sure that he’s been ruined for any other man for a while. He’s going to jerk off to the thought of Ben’s massive cock for ages.

His moaning does something for Ben, apparently, because he starts thrusting into him shallowly, his hands tight on Hux’s hips after he’s been positioned to his liking. He can’t really do anything but stay still and take it, but he finds that he doesn’t really want to do anything but that anyway. Ben’s cock is a revelation, big enough to make him feel the stretch and the burn and to hit him in the right spots without much effort, and he wants to enjoy it as long as he can.

His body relaxes and Ben can push in deeper with each stroke; Hux groans like he’s been punched when Ben pulls out nearly all the way and thrusts in hard. He should bite the pillow, stifle some of his noises, he thinks in a daze, but then Ben fucks into him again and Hux forgets about everything but him again.

His brain is short-circuiting, all focus narrowed on Ben’s cock inside him, his hands all over him, the heat of his body and how _good_ it feels to be pressed into the bed and used like this. “Fuck, yes, fuck me harder,” he chokes out, reduced to begging shamelessly when Ben thrusts faster into him, a soft grunt accompanying each movement. Hux might actually cry if he stops now, too far gone to be mortified by his own reactions.

It does hurt, Ben’s too big for it to completely painless, but it feels so good in a way Hux can’t explain either, the stretch and overwhelming fullness, the way Ben makes sure he’s seated as deep as he can go on each thrust before doing it again and again. Hux moans Ben’s name into the pillow, finally biting the pillowcase to keep himself from screaming and waking up his entire building. He might be having the fuck of his life, but they wouldn’t appreciate knowing that.

“Call me Kylo,” Ben suddenly says, breathing raggedly into Hux’s hair and kissing the back of his neck. “I just—please.”

Hux is too far gone to protest or care. Ben could tell him to call him “daddy” and he’d probably comply as long as he keeps moving his hips like that. But there’s something undeniably _right_ about how the syllables feel on his tongue and in his mind. “Fuck me, Kylo,” he murmurs, eyes still closed, and he’s rewarded with a low growl and Ben— _Kylo—_ grabbing his hips and pulling Hux back onto his cock. Hux arches into it, grabbing onto the headboard to steady himself as Kylo fucks up into him.

It’s perfect, Kylo is perfect, and Hux loses himself to the onslaught of pleasure. He pushes back against the occasional thrust, but otherwise, he lets Kylo fuck him and push him around however he needs to, relishing the drag of his cock inside him and the way Kylo growls deep in his throat and fucks him harder whenever Hux moans and twists his hands in the sheets, like he can’t get enough of him and nothing will keep them apart again. It’s a possessive sort of fucking, Kylo’s hands all over him as he fucks him so deep that Hux thinks that no one else will ever compare.

He’s going to feel this for days. Every time he sits down in his office, every time he walks into his flat, every time he gets into bed, he’s going to remember the stretch of Kylo’s cock inside him, Kylo’s hands on him, the way he sounds, and the spark of _something_ between them, recognizable from the moment Kylo walked into the bar tonight and their eyes met.

It feels like he’s flying. Like he’s been lifted straight off this earth, like he’s soaring through space with Kylo in long black robes at his side, steel flooring under their feet, stars and planets glimmering outside their window as they stand on _their_ ship—

The entire galaxy belongs to them now, and Kylo turns to look at him, unmasked, a simmering current of violence and satisfaction between them as red and raw as his unstable saber, as deep as the scar on his face—

They would kill for each other, they _have_ killed for each other, destroyed entire systems to keep each other, and it is time to reap the fruits of their labor—

Hux comes with a scream and Kylo’s hand rough on his cock, working him through the throes of an orgasm so intense that he thinks he’s going to pass out from it. He might’ve actually blacked out for a second, but when he manages to open his eyes again, Kylo’s motionless above him, panting for breath against the back of his neck. He’s holding onto Hux’s hand, fingers intertwined against the mattress as Hux wakes himself sluggishly.

Kylo shifts his hips minutely, testing the waters, and Hux moans weakly, clenching around his cock and drawing a gasp out of him.

“ _Hux_ ,” Kylo breathes; it’s his turn to beg now as he pushes in again, cock throbbing inside him. Hux can feel the heat and the heavy weight of it and suddenly, he wants Kylo so badly, it’s all he can do to nod and push back against him without sobbing for it. He squeezes Kylo’s hand, pushing himself up onto his elbows again and wiggling a little under his body.

Kylo needs no further encouragement to fuck him again and Hux relishes each thrust, even as his body starts protesting the onslaught. Every one of his nerve endings tingles as Kylo moves inside him with so much contained strength. It’s too much, but Kylo’s always been _too much_ in every way, from his size to his power to his emotions, why would he be any different now—

But it makes no sense that he knows this, they only met tonight—

Yet Hux _knows_ this man, he’s walked around with the imprint of Kylo on his soul for years—

None of it makes any sense, and it still doesn’t as Kylo moans and comes with a final thrust. It feels different, and strange, before Hux remembers the condom. He’s almost regretful about it, which is a ridiculous feeling because Kylo—Ben—whatever he wants to call himself in the aftermath of this—is a stranger and Hux is a firm believer in safe sex, especially with his one-night stands.

Eventually, Kylo stops shaking and he pulls out slowly; Hux drops his hips back down to the mattress with a wince as he realizes he’s laying on the wet spot of his own come, but he has no energy left to do much of anything about it. His bones feel like jello. He can hear Kylo going through all the usual motions of clean-up after sex, feels the bounce of the mattress as he gets up and presumably heads for the bathroom. By the time he returns with a warm washcloth, Hux is dozing off despite every effort at staying awake, and he only rolls over because Kylo pushes at him enough to be bothersome and then carefully cleans him off.

So this is it, then. Hux braces himself for the awkward throat-clearing when they’re done, for Kylo pulling his clothes back on and leaving the flat.

But then Kylo tosses the washcloth into Hux’s laundry hamper and gets back into bed with him. Slides under the covers and everything. His eyes watch Hux’s reaction carefully, like he’s asking permission to stay.

Kylo is not a man who’s ever asked for permission for anything in his life, and yet here he is, asking to stay, asking Hux to ask him to stay, just like the first time they—but this _is_ their first time, they’ve never met before tonight, and Hux doesn’t know what’s happening, maybe he’s going crazy, but there’s no scar on Kylo’s face where there should be one. He should’ve died from that scar, and from all the others, but he didn’t. Hux knows the scar just as well as he knows the beat of his own heart, and he strokes his cheek, right where it would’ve been.

For once in his life, he’s afraid to ask, but he must. “Kylo,” he starts, then takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know what to say, which is a rare occurrence for him. How does one explain what he saw to a stranger? Shared hallucinations aren’t a thing, they can’t be. “What was that?” he finally asks, because he can’t not. The curiosity burns.

Kylo turns to kiss the palm of his hand, breath warm on his skin. “I don’t know. But I feel like I’ve been looking for you my whole life.” He scoots in closer, pressing his face to the curve of Hux’s throat with a sigh. The feeling of his breath on the delicate skin sends shivers down Hux’s spine, a spike of flight-or-fight adrenaline jolting him awake.

Kylo is still talking, lips moving against his throat in between gentle suckling kisses. “When I walked into the bar, and I saw you sitting there, I just _knew_. You were waiting for me all this time and I just had to make all the right choices before I could meet you in the middle. Like it was supposed to be a second chance.”

Hux’s throat is dry. These would be meaningless and rather creepy platitudes from anyone else, but Kylo’s eyes are dark and knowing as he lifts his head so they can look at each other. When their eyes meet, it feels like Kylo could pull his thoughts straight out of his head if he cared to try. Hux is afraid that his expression is too open, too trusting, but Kylo looks at him and he wants to let him in.

“Me too,” he says hoarsely. “That’s… me too.” He brushes an errant curl out of Kylo’s face gently, tucks it behind his ear. He’s waited him for so long, for what feels like entire lifetimes, it’d be foolish to let him disappear into the wind.

He feels like part of his soul would go with Kylo if he were to leave now.

“Do you want to stay for breakfast?” he asks, tampering down his hopefulness as best as he can. No matter what he says, Kylo might not feel the same burning curiosity he does, even if he feels this strange connection between them. Their lusts have been satisfied, the curiosity less so, but maybe it’s time to move on.

Kylo doesn’t quite smile, but something softens in his gaze, and he kisses Hux tenderly before settling against his side. It feels like he was meant to be there all along. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of thoughts about the similarities and differences between canon Kylo and Hux, and their modern counterparts, and not enough willpower to write about it. Chapter 2, from Kylo's POV, to come soon!
> 
> I'm on Tumblr, so [come say hi.](https://part-timewonders.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/parttimewonders)


	2. wild and fluorescent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...ah, yes, I promised a lot of people that there would be a Ben/Kylo POV chapter... and then it took me 6 months to write _anything_. This takes place just a bit before Chapter 1, leading directly into everything that happens there.
> 
> This is meant for [Long Live Kylux](https://twitter.com/hashtag/LongLiveKylux?src=hashtag_click) weekend, Day 2: reincarnation/soulmates! Have a little bit of both prompts here.

Ben hates the snow.

Well, he doesn’t _hate_ it, but he’s from New York, where it does get cold and it does snow in the winter, but it’s not nearly as bad as the chill in London.

Rey tells him all the time that London winters and New York winters are comparable, not that different, it barely even snows, “stop whining about it, Ben,” and he takes it from her because she’s his favorite (only) cousin, but _still_. Snow is wet and cold and seeps unpleasantly into his boots when it piles up on the streets. Ben could most definitely do without snow.

He’s in a terrible enough mood already, hands fisted in his coat pockets to keep himself from lashing out at the nearest bystander or the nearest wall. The look on his face is apparently enough to make total strangers cross the street instead of walk anywhere closer towards him. Ben’s just fine with that right now.

He needs a drink, now more than ever, especially since the gym is closed at this hour and he can’t destroy yet another punching bag without Rey getting upset at him. Talking with his parents, even when an entire _ocean_ currently separates them, is always enough to get his hackles up. There’s a reason he splits his time between the two cities now—living in the same borough as his parents is too close, so Ben had moved to Brooklyn as soon as he could, but even that was too close for comfort.

So when Rey called up, telling him to come visit her in London, he readily agreed. He crashed on her futon for a few weeks, volunteered in the gym and taught some kick-boxing classes, and now it’s been two months and he’s making a small place for himself here, and no matter how his parents try to cajole him into coming home, either through guilt or anger or whatever new tactic they’ve decided on now, he’s not doing it yet. He’s not ready. This city has an answer for him, he knows it, feels it—he just needs time to figure out what the question is.

There’s a fancy bar ahead of him—a man his age holds the door for a woman who’s dressed just as sharply as her date is—and Ben considers his options. Either this bar, or the pub across the street where he’s probably going to get into a fistfight.

Contrary to popular (his father’s) opinion, Ben isn’t one to go actively looking for trouble anymore. He’s got a temper, yes, and his temper rules his reactions more often than not, but he meditates, he does yoga, he teaches kickboxing classes at Rey’s gym and practices Muay Thai and has outlets for his aggression now that he didn’t have when he was younger. Years of therapy helped—he does miss his therapist in New York, but he has her email address and a standing video call with her and that will have to do for now.

So after a moment of hesitation, Ben follows the earlier couple into their fancy date-night bar.

It’s dimly lit inside, because that’s what’s trendy now for all cocktail bars—Ben could be walking into the exact same place in Manhattan and he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

There are couples everywhere, a few small groups of work colleagues, and three people sitting directly at the bar. One pair is yet another couple on a date, and one is a slim redhead in all black. He’s facing the bar, an empty glass in front of him as he talks to the bartender, and then he turns to the side, just enough for Ben to see his face, and Ben just stares.

He’s lean rather than skinny, he sits ramrod-straight even on a barstool, and he could probably cut glass with that jawline of his. His hair is brushed back carefully, clearly going for a particular style, but still falls in his face in the same haircut that half of London has—Ben has the sudden urge to push it back, work pomade through the strands until they hold—his need to _touch_ is almost unbearable.

He doesn’t realize he’s grabbed the corner of the hostess’s podium until she speaks up. “Can I help you, sir?”

Ben shakes himself out of his reverie. “I’m just going to the bar.” She doesn’t get a chance to respond before his feet start moving of their own accord, closer and closer to the mysterious man at the bar. There’s no one else around him, he’s here alone, but Ben can hear his soul crying out for something, or someone, and he wants to respond.

He’s experienced attraction before. He’s almost in his thirties, he’s had his share of sexual partners, and he knows attraction, and lust, and even love to a certain extent. But he doesn’t recognize this gravitational pull that draws him in helplessly. He can’t resist it, he doesn’t _want_ to resist it, he wants to fall into its sweet embrace and straight into the redhead’s arms.

He’s almost at the bar when the bartender comes back with the man’s drink—perfect, it’s an opening. “It’s on me,” he says, trying to sound and appear smoother than he actually feels. Something slots into place as he sits down on the unoccupied stool and he feels warmth. Not the warmth of embarrassment or anger, but of contentment, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be.

The bartender takes his card with a raised brow but no further words. Ben takes a second to order another glass of whatever his mystery man’s drinking—it looks like a whiskey cocktail of some sort—before turning his attention to him. He mostly looks curious, although Ben doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail along the length of his body, the width of his shoulders under his black coat. Ben’s suddenly glad that he opted to get properly dressed today, rather than wear his workout clothes as he usually does.

“I suppose I should say thank you,” the other man says after a moment of silence between them, angling his head towards Ben slightly so they can hear each other. The warm bar lighting makes his hair glow copper and Ben has the urge to run his fingers through it yet again. “Do you make a habit of buying strangers drinks?”

“Only the ones I want to talk to,” Ben says, then blushes pink from the honesty of it. The drink is just a pretense for talking to this man; they’ve exchanged two sentences so far, but it’ll be worth whatever he’s paid—it’ll all be worth it just to have his attention on him.

His new companion shrugs. “Cheers to that, I guess.” They clink glasses and each take a sip. Ben doesn’t drink often, but the whiskey goes down his throat easy and leaves a pleasant burn behind. “You’ve bought me a drink, and I still don’t know your name.”

“I’m Ben.” It’s not a lie, but it still feels wrong somehow—it’s his name, has been his name since he was born, but it doesn’t feel right to be giving it to this man. Like he should be a different person, or they should be different people than who they are. “You?”

His companion smirks. “Nice to meet you, Ben. I’m Hux. My first name is enough of a reason to go by my last name instead.”

That’s valid, Ben supposes. “Hux,” he repeats. It sounds right on his tongue, and Hux blinks, startled, as if he likes the sound of it in Ben’s voice too. “Nice to meet you too. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Hux shakes his head, but his gaze lingers on Ben, like he’ll disappear if he looks away for too long. “No, no date tonight… although I wouldn’t be opposed to some company.”

Ben knows the feeling all too well; he doesn’t want to take his eyes off Hux either. Someone else could call his name, his parents could come walking into the bar, a _car_ could crash into the place right now, and he wouldn’t even notice. “You’re in luck. I’m also here alone… I could join you, if you’d like?”

Hux gives him another appraising look, and Ben looks right back at him. They’ve never met before—Ben would _remember_ if they’d met before—but there’s something here. Maybe it’s just sexual chemistry, the crackling tension between them apparent as soon as Ben bought Hux that drink, but it could be more.

Ben wants to know. He wants to see what’s in his future, and if his future holds this man in it, by his side.

“Careful, Ben,” Hux says, the words lilting upwards teasingly. Whatever he sees in Ben, he must like. “I could be a serial killer, for all you know.”

A valid concern, but—

“I’ll take my chances,” Ben decides as he slides his hand onto Hux’s knee.

The sharp smile he gets from Hux at that is worth every step that led him here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr, so [come say hi.](https://part-timewonders.tumblr.com/) I'm also on [Twitter,](https://twitter.com/parttimewonders) if that's your jam.


End file.
